The Best Cartò Zia Maria Ever Had

Half Sardinian half Texan, Francesca Farris moved to Italy seeking to collect stories of the people, processes, and ingredients that characterise the local cuisine and food systems of Italy’s 2 main islands: Sardinia and Sicily. Francesca currently works at the Anna Tasca Lanza cooking school in Sicily.

Zia Maria went to a baptism and tried the best cartò she’s ever had. 

Through a series of conversations, phone calls and whatsapp chats, Zia tracked down the maker, who shared with us her mother’s recipe for cartò. Now we’re hunched over her telefonino’s speakerphone as a tinny voice blabs away, me scribbling down every word.

An almond brittle with many names. Each town in Sardinia has its own word–gattò, cattò, gateau de mendula–and it’s own recipe for this simple 3 ingredient treat. In Orosei they say cartò. 

Cartò is just one example of many of the time-intensive hand-worked processes needed to create the mainstays of Sardinian cuisine. Though simple in ingredients, the complexity of cartò lies in the intricacies of the technique, the handiwork in preparation. 

We start by blanching 1 kilo of whole raw almonds. Then by pinching each between our thumb and forefinger, we coax the little white almond out of its brown jacket, called the pellicina. 

I look over to see that for every almond I peel, Zia peels three. Without looking down, her hands work on their own, the repetitive action loosens the memories stored in her joints.

Zia tells me stories of the days before a wedding, when women of the neighborhood would gather in the home of the bride’s family to process almonds to make all the sweets for the big event, aranztada, guelfos, and cartò.

They sit in a circle on stools in the courtyard, their long black skirts pooling on the ground around their feet. Skirts covering their chairs, appearing almost as if they float above the floor, their laps piling up with the almond’s brown pellicina. Together they process over 100 kilos of almonds, a long assembly line to blanch, peel, slice, and toast the almonds to prepare them for their sweet transformation. Their gossip sustains a long day’s work. 

Now, Zia and I sit on the plush recliners in her living room which doubles as the foyer of the hotel she lives in. We’ve pulled the coffee table up to our knees, and we work with the tv on low volume, flashing blue. I try to imagine our plastic colanders as the woven asfodelo baskets lined with linen cloth they would have been once. Or the industrial stainless steel pot that was once a charcoal-stained copper cauldron over an open fire, releasing the sweet smell of burnt almond.

Cartò Nuorese

The recipe below is the one that was shared with us over the phone. Zia especially loves

it because sticky or overly crunchy, it has the perfect crisp and easy break.

I’d recommend buying store bought blanched slivered almonds if you want to cut down a day’s worth of work to get your almonds “ready.” Or choose a loved one to process almonds with. 

Once the almonds are ready, this recipe becomes very fast-paced and comes together in a matter of minutes. My favourite part is the Sardinian secret touch - using a lemon instead of a rolling pin to add a last minute hint of citrus. 

1 kilo whole raw almonds or blanched slivered almonds

200 g granulated sugar + some for work surface

200 g honey

Whole lemon (or any citrus fruit)

1. If starting with whole raw almonds: 

1. Blanch them in boiling water for 2 minutes

2. Pinch the brown skin off and soak the white almonds in water to keep from browning

3. Slice each almond lengthwise into 2-3 slices

4. Toast the almonds in the oven at very low temperature to dry them out

2. Pick a smooth work surface where you will roll out your cartò (marble, granite, stainless steel work great). Sprinkle a liberal layer of granulated sugar, this will prevent the brittle from sticking to the counter.

3. In a heavy bottomed pot over medium flame, dissolve the sugar in the honey until smooth.

4. Add the almonds, stirring constantly to create even caramelization and to prevent burning.

5. Once the almonds are an even deep caramel color, it is ready to come off the heat.

6. This is when you gotta work quickly but also carefully because the sugar is only extendible when the whole mixture is molten lava hot.

7. Pour the almonds out over your sugared work surface and using a lemon (or any citrus), pat down the almonds and roll them out to *ideally* a single layer thin. You can dampen the outside of the lemon to prevent sticking.

8. Once you have it rolled out, still working fast before it cools, use a knife to cut your cartò into diamonds.

9. Good job, you’ve done it!  Let it cool. Take a walk and find a citrus tree to pick leaves to use as little individual serving doilies. If there’s no citrus near you any leaves could work or little frilly cupcake cups work too! 

Ratatouille

Dante Sauve is a chef at Rochelle Canteen. Here he reminisces on early memories with his grandparents, who live in Provence, France. He’s shared the magic with SYTI by offering a recipe for ratatouille as good as his grandma’s.

Ratatouille was an important part of my upbringing. My mum, who is Provencal, would cook it regularly at home.  As a child, I wasn’t overly fond of wet vegetables. But I still recall the warming French aromas that swam around the kitchen and the happy faces at the table. It was only mid way through my adolescence when I visited my grandparents - who live in a small coastal village next to Marseille - when I decided I loved this dish. 

All photographs by Dante

On the first morning of my stay, I woke up in the typical lethargic and slow teenage way. I got up and went into the kitchen to find Mami - in France your grandmother is always ‘Mami’ - preparing some ingredients that I did not pay much attention to. There was, as there always was, a fresh glass of juice squeezed that morning from the heap of oranges kept on the balcony. Orange juice down in one, now I was awake. As I was eating my tartine I peeked over at what Mami was doing. In a most relaxed fashion she was cutting vegetables. They were cut large and irregularly, yet somehow, magically, all the same size. I asked her what she was doing. “I’m making the ratatouille for lunch.” I remember thinking it was only a couple of vegetables cooked together, “‘It’s eight in the morning, why have you already started?” She told me that you must start cooking it early because ratatouille needs time.

At lunch, Papi - French grandfathers are always ‘Papi’- was back from the morning errands and we ate Ratatouille served with rice and tuna from the market. Delicious. Provence on a plate. Somehow so comforting. I had seconds and thirds. 

Good thing Mami made a large batch as the next day we would take the ratatouille out the fridge before lunch and eat it at room temperature.  It sounds a little odd but it is entirely delicious. It meant another day for the ingredients to get to know each other better and lifted an already beautifully aromatic dish to a sweet, harmonious marriage of vegetables. 

The recipe consists of only five vegetables - Aubergine, Courgettes, Peppers, Onions and Tomatoes - paired with garlic, olive oil, salt and pepper. I am truly seduced by their transformation into such a delicious dish. No meat, no butter and no need for anything else. It stands by itself.

Recipe 

Makes a large batch. Enough for 4 and then lunch the next day.

Ingredients:

2 Large Aubergines

3 Courgettes 

3 Large Red peppers

3 Red onions 

3/4 Tomatoes (depending on size)

4 Garlic Cloves

A Bundle of Thyme

Olive Oil 

Cut the courgettes, aubergine and peppers into large, even chunks. Make sure you keep each vegetable separate from one another. Salt them generously and leave for half an hour. We are aiming to draw out water from the vegetables. This will allow them to stay firm and keep their shape whilst breaking down their fibres so flavour can get in. In the meantime we can peel the tomatoes. Boil some water and cut a cross into the bottom. Once your water is boiled, cover the tomatoes completely and leave for 45 seconds to 1 minute. Take your tomatoes out and with a small knife peel the skin using your cross as a starting point. Now cut the tomatoes into the same size chunks as the rest of your vegetables. Peel the onions and cut into large chunks. Peel and slice your garlic. 

Get a large heavy bottom pot and add a good amount of olive oil. Bring to a searing heat and add your first set of vegetables, salt and pepper lightly. We are looking to seal the vegetables and brown them a little all over. Remove from the pot and repeat the process with the remaining sets of vegetables, one bunch at a time, except the onions. You will need to add more olive oil each time as these vegetables really absorb liquid.

Once all your vegetables have seen the pot, turn down the heat, add more olive oil and toast the garlic and thyme briefly before adding the onions. Gently sweat your onions and garlic until they start to become translucent. At this point add back the rest of the vegetables, a small pinch of salt and pepper, and a good glug of olive oil. ‘Don’t be scared of Olive oil’ my Papi would say. 

Give your vegetables a good mix and cover with a lid. Let it cook at a low slow gentle heat for up to 2 hours or more if need be. Give them a stir every 20 minutes. The vegetables must be tender, wet and almost falling apart. If you feel your ratatouille isn’t wet enough add a touch of water to guide them along. Water is a cook's best friend.

Check for a last season of salt, pepper and olive oil. Et Voila.